Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 48

              ‘Can you see me?’ I ask.

                He lights up, as though someone’s flicked a switch. Without warning he clasps my hand like I’ve offered him a lifeline, adrift in a stormy ocean.

                I’m taken aback but I know what it’s like to be the quiet kid who’s never touched. I can’t count how many times I wanted to hold hands with all the girls I used to fancy before Penny. I know a touch to Yates will feel like a physical spread of warmth all up his arm and into his chest. As I close my eyes, I see him clearer; I watch the cloud lift from his darkened body.

                ‘I see you!’ he says. ‘Just like Cecily says!’ Then he quotes. ‘”And the young boy appeared before her, like a picture in an old photograph, black and white, a little frayed around the edges.” This is amazing, Easton! You look so – so clear.’

                ‘Do I?’ I reply. ‘Don’t feel it a lot of the time. Reach further. Can you see anyone else?’

                I watch him screw up his closed eyes as he concentrates. I feel the struggle in his fingers as he grips my hand still tighter.

                ‘I think – I think I do!’ he says. ‘Just a whisper. There’s so many.’

                ‘I think it’s everyone who ever died. I only died some hours ago and I’ve seen all this. I didn't think there was a point in sulking about being dead. Because I feel alive myself, we’ve just carried on in a different form. We've got a fresh start so why spend it like your old life?'

                He opens his eyes, in many ways figuratively as well as literally. ‘So what do you suggest I do?’

                ‘Get out there, see the world. I find people work just as well as books when you need steadying.’

                He looks to the hallway, I follow his line of sight and I know his books are calling to him. I can feel a pinch of fatigue in the corners of my eyes. Do I still get tired? I guess I must if I can remember the taste of tea strongly enough to believe I'm drinking.

                ‘The books aren’t going anywhere, Yates. You have an eternity to do whatever you want. I doubt a year even feels like a year anymore.’

                He nods. ‘I don’t think you’ve cured me,’ he says, still glum. ‘A lot of people have tried.’

                ‘I’d never say an old book and a memory would ever cure something like that. I’ve seen it remember. We can try. I’m not going anywhere either.’